Tonight I wanted to be good - I cooked chicken by myself, alone, for the first time. It went ok - the poor bird was sliced to bits in the pan by the time I was satisfied that all possible salmonella had been eradicated. The meal was followed of course by an intense spray-down of all kitchen surfaces using a powerful industrial-grade pesticide, but whatever. It's the way of the gourmand. And it smells great.
But you know what the utterly shitty part was? I really wanted to have green beans, and I had the can and everything, but I couldn't work the can opener. It's one of those weird ones that look like it fell from the innards of a helicopter, one of the cheap ones made of three long pieces and then a slightly sharpened wheel. I played with it and scraped the hell out of the top of the can, but to no avail. I could open a can with it about as well as I could use it to pierce my own ear. By the time it was over I was ready to throw it through the window. I felt idiotic, like a golden retriever trying to work an abacus. Sometimes I feel smart and sometimes I feel like a stupid little prat. But overall I guess the meal was a success. Nothing like four pieces of chicken, eaten directly out of the pan. Bachelorhood rawks!